


if it can be broken, it means it still works

by swishandflickwit



Series: you never forget your first [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, Canon Divergence, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, PTSD, cs angst, cs au week, cs au week - day 2, cs fan fic, cs ff, cs fluff, ptsd fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4437053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Fuck, who was she kidding? She’s disappointed with herself, for thinking she was equipped enough to handle this… to help him) </p><p>(Can broken pieces really mend other broken pieces?) </p><p>(Who was she kidding? Just... fuck)</p><p>In which Killian suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder following the events of the Alternative Universe and Emma helps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it can be broken, it means it still works

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous prompt from Tumblr: Killian gets flinchy around David after the AU and Emma has to help him stop.
> 
> This took me so long. But look, I finished just in time for CS AU Week! *throws confetti*
> 
> Hope I fulfilled prompt dreams. Cause this one ran away from me. I know, what's new, right?

He hides it well, at first. 

A joke there.

(– _I do intend to hold it over your heads for a very… long… time_.) 

A quirk of an eyebrow here.

He’ll even throw in a smirk, time to time.  

He hides it well, which is whyshe doesn’t notice it immediately.

She brushes it off in the beginning –-- attributes the weird tension in his shoulders to him having been a different person for, what was seemingly, an  _entire lifetime_.

Plus, there’s that plot twist where he, you know,  _died_.

So she gives him time to adjust. 

Of course there were the little things.

How he would veer away from knives (be it butter, paring or steak) or any sharp object, whether it was consciously or not. 

How his body would stiffen at the sight of any of the dwarves. 

The way his eyes would momentarily widen with something akin to… she wouldn’t call it fear, but it was a close thing. A reluctance, maybe, every time David and Mary Margaret approached him. 

But then he’d glide his fingers over such instruments smoothly, as if he never meant to take it in the first place. His movements would resume its easy and cocksure manner and those stormy blues of his would clear up, reluctance turning to fondness and teasing and it was like she just imagined it ever occurred at all.

It was happening so slowly… so  _quietly_ that when it turned to the big things, she was completely  _blindsided_.

Walks to the station or late night strolls became a non-existent thing, him preferring to stay in at Granny’s whenever she so much as  _hinted_ at it. 

He stopped interacting with the dwarves all together.  

They were having breakfast with her parents weeks after the Alternative Universe debacle when David clapped a hand to his shoulder just before they were to part ways and he… he _lost_ it. 

In an instant, he had her father’s arm pinned to his back and his hook centimeters from his neck.

David cried out in pain just as Mary Margaret gasped, hugging Neal close to her chest.

“Charming!” she exclaimed while Emma was immediately on her feet, arms out towards Killian’s direction, both to placate and, as much as she hated it, to use her magic on him just in case. 

His behavior confused her, but didn’t really alarm her. Not when she knew in her bones, Killian Jones would rather hurt himself than hurt her or one hair on any one of her family’s heads.

Her faith proved right when the instant she said to him, soothingly, “Killian?” he let her father go.

He shoved him and David scampered to Mary Margaret’s side, both of them looking at Killian with not an ounce of fear, but rather, concern.

If it were any other situation, Emma would have been proud of her parents’ growth.

As it were, she didn’t have time to marvel at their behavior when her boyfriend was seemingly on the verge of a panic attack. 

His chest was heaving, his eyes widened in terror as he stared at his hand and hook with dread. And then those cerulean orbs of his trained on her parents and there was no denying it now. 

There was fear in his eyes, plain as day. 

And it was directed at her  _parents_.

“I… I–” Sweat started to gather at his temples and his eyes darted everywhere and nowhere, clouded over like… like he was somewhere else,  _reliving_ something else. 

“Hey, Killian? It’s ok…” Emma’s parents surged forward to reassure him as well, but she held a hand up when he flinched, his shoulders hunching and eyes widening even further with terror.

She’s a bit slow on the uptake but, she’s dealt with enough law enforcement figures and incidents to recognize a major trigger when she sees one and it seems her parents have fallen into that category for him.

His gaze clears over then, but not by much. Just long enough for him to mutter, “I’m sorry,” before he darts over to the inn portion of Granny’s and locks himself in his room.

After that, he doesn’t eat. 

He doesn’t leave his room. 

And he doesn’t talk to anyone. 

Emma’s been running her whole life –-- an instinct born from a system that continued to fail her.  

That is, until Henry brought her home. 

Even then though, with the discovery of her parents, the whole fiasco with the Wicked Witch and the whole revelation that was the Snow Queen, Emma’s first course of action to each of those events was to  _run_ , especially when things got tough.  

It’s a habit she seems to have a hard time breaking. 

Which is why she’s pleasantly surprised at how easy it is for her to assume the role of  _chaser_.

But then again, maybe she isn’t really  _that_ surprised because this is  _Killian_. He’s the one man who’s come back to her. He’s crossed  _realms_ to save her. Even when he didn’t know her, he jumped at the chance to help her. 

No matter what time, what universe… he’s never, not  _once_ , let her down. 

She doesn’t have a claim on saying that she’s never betrayed him because she has; she  _did_ when she left him on the beanstalk. But now that the roles have been reversed and it’s her turn to save him,  _well_. 

There’s no way in  _hell_ she’s about to abandon him. Never  _again_.  

She tries knocking at his door first. 

“Killian?” 

When there’s no response, she respects his need for space and lets him deal with it on his own first. 

She politely requests Ruby and Granny to leave him meals by his door. He doesn’t touch much of his food but he does leave a half-empty plate at the end of the day and she’s slightly reassured that’s he’s eating somewhat. 

It goes on like this for two days.  

On the third day, she takes to knocking on his door again. 

She’s never used them with him before, but the distance has made the endearment fall easily from her lips. 

“Killian, babe, come on. You gotta talk to me sometime, right?” Her tone is light and somewhat exasperated but the concern lies heavily in her heart.

She hears him shuffling behind the door and envisions him pressed against the wood, much like she is. She imagines her hand, splayed on the right side of the door, in line with his own and wishes a barrier didn’t exist between them – literally and figuratively.

She can easily break in, her lock-picking tools sit comfortably in its place in her Bug’s glove compartment after all, just waiting to be put to use. But she understands, better than anyone, the need for solitude. Neither does she want to push him or break his confidence.

Not  _yet_ , at least. 

When the third day yields no results, she calls in reinforcements.

Archie, bless the man and his forgiving nature, meets her at Granny’s and agrees to help her.

She explains Killian’s symptoms to him, the subtle signs he had been exhibiting prior and the final event that led him to his current predicament. 

The former cricket and resident psychotherapist agrees with her opinion that Killian might be suffering from acute post-traumatic stress disorder based on the amount of time his symptoms have been transpiring and suggests they quickly remedy the situation before it escalates to a chronic PTSD. 

Archie’s first suggestion is psychotherapy with him but despite his alacrity to treat Killian, they both recognize the difficulty with that method. If Killian is reluctant to speak with her now, she doubts he’d be willing to essentially open up to Archie,  _especially_ given his rather violent history towards the doctor. 

He suggests medication as well, but the idea doesn’t sit well with Emma for some reason. 

Archie lists other forms of psychotherapy – anxiety management, cognitive therapy and exposure therapy – that would help with the triggers and they exhaust all options of treatment. She knows she should discuss this with Killian and the want of assistance  _should_ come from him which is why none of this sound reassuring to Emma at all.

So she asks the doctor what she can do, personally. 

Archie smiles hearteningly at her. “Oh Emma, you’re already doing it.”

She raises an eyebrow in confusion and Archie reads her question to elaborate in the gesture.  

“The fact that you’re being pro-active and seeking ways to help him is such a huge help. The most a person can do for any loved one who suffers from PTSD is support them emotionally. Encourage him to talk about the event that he thinks caused it in the first place and listen to him. Don’t rush him but most importantly, just  _be there_ for him. I can see you’re already doing that beautifully.”

Emma cracks her first smile in three days, albeit it’s a small thing. 

“By the time he’s ready to accept help, I’ve no doubt you’ll be there to guide him.”

Archie gives her an encouraging nod and takes his leave from their booth at Granny’s. Emma stands with him.

“Thank you,” she murmurs sincerely. 

“You let me know if you need anymore assistance. My door is always open should he agree to treatment.”

She nods and bids him goodbye.

Now she just has to see about the “agree to treatment” part… 

 **~oOo~**  

After a week of radioactive silence (she knows Archie says not to rush him, but this is getting  _ridiculous_ ), Emma takes matters into her own hands.

And by matters, she means her lock-picking kit.    

Granny locks the door to the diner but leaves the inn open so it isn’t too difficult to walk into the establishment at 3:30 in the morning, an hour in which Storybrooke takes the “sleepy town” description seriously and almost every citizen is snoozing – including the regulars of The Rabbit Hole.

 _Almost_ , being the keyword, because Emma remains awake and alert as she lurks up the stairs of the B&B and tiptoes straight to Killian’s door. A fruitless endeavor, she knows, given that there are no occupants besides the pirate and that Granny and Ruby can probably tell she’s around, what with their wolf senses and shit. 

But, she figures they know what – or rather,  _who_ – she’s here for and won’t mind anyway.  

Emma crouches down in front of Killian’s door and gets to work. She’s not  _exactly_ rushing but the time it takes for her to unlock his door is a record-breaker.

She creeps in slowly but quickly forgoes that when she hears thrashing and grunting in the direction of Killian’s bed.

The room is dark, the only light coming from the moon through the lone window so she goes for the switch and the place is flooded with light.

Her heart aches at the sight that greets her.

The pillows are thrown over the bed, his sheets are tangled around his legs and he’s damp with sweat. His face is contorted in pain and his breathing is labored and short, like he’s fighting something but losing.

She has a feeling she knows what it is he’s seeing. 

So she rushes to his side without a second thought and grasps his shoulders, shaking him awake.

“Killian... Killian, come on, wake up.  _Wake up_!” 

His back arches and he gasps as he clutches at the place on his chest where she remembers, with perfect clarity, her father’s sword had pierced his flesh. 

She’s here for Killian and she’s trying to be strong for him, but watching him relive that moment takes her back there as well and she  _sees_ it–  

_–the sound of broken wood and sacks tumbling over figures and cobbled stones._

_–of swords clashing and the thud of a body falling into a heap on the ground._

_–the_   _light leaving his eyes as his life drained from him._

She knows her face looks as stricken now as it did then, so she gives herself this moment for the fear to take over her, the grief to wash throughout her body in a way she didn’t let it when she raced to reverse the damage wrought by the Author. 

Just… one… moment.

Then she pulls her shit together, enough so that she might put Killian back together too.

She sits at his side and goes for shaking him once more and then he’s plunged into awareness, wheezing like she just saved him from drowning.

Maybe she has. 

“Emma?” He mutters, dazedly.

She strokes the sweaty locks from his forehead so that she might see him better.

“Hey,” she whispers back. 

“Am I dreaming?"

She laughs even if nothing's funny, if only to alleviate a bit of the nervousness she feels. 

"No. You're not dreaming."

"What–what are you doing here?” 

“I know you want space, but it’s been  _a week_ and I just–” she huffs, “I couldn’t wait.”

The sheets pool at his waist as he sits up and it’s then she realizes that he’s  _naked_. 

Or at least, from the waist up, as far as she can tell. 

She blushes and Killian, despite his uneasiness, notices her reaction to his current state of undress. 

He chuckles, albeit weakly. “Like what you see then, love?”

She unabashedly stares at his torso (might as well, right? She’s a grown ass woman who’ll stare at her boyfriend as she damn well pleases, thanks) (not that she’ll tell him that any time soon though) and snarks, “Eh, it’ll do.” 

He smirks but all mirth drops from his body as he rubs a weary hand over his face.

“Swan…” 

She holds a hand up. “Look, I know things have been hard for you – well, I know  _now_  because once again, I’m slow on the uptake–”

“I–”  

“–but you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with all this as well and you  _know_ I hate that.” 

“If I may–”

“Or, at least, I _think_ you know I hate that because you’ve always been so good at reading me.”

“Well I–” 

“Then again I also forget you’re not exactly a mind reader but, well, now you know right?” 

“Right, but–”

“And I can read people really well, it was my job to after all, but I’m not exactly a mind reader myself,  _especially_ when it comes to you–” 

(at this point, he thinks the wiser option is to keep his gob shut and to just let her speak)

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you just  _told me sooner_  then things wouldn’t have gone as far as it did. Right?”  

There’s a beat of silence, in which Killian quirks an eyebrow. 

“Are you done?”

Emma nods, realizing that she just said all that in nearly one breath, with a little (ok,  _a lot of_ ) embarrassment. 

“Uh… yeah,” she manages, awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to bombard you, for the record. I wanted to lay that all out, just so that my presence here was  _clear_  and I’m not here to like, accost you or anything, for leaving in a lurch like that and I’m not holding  _any_ of your actions against you by the way, and neither do my parents,  _just so we’re clear_ cause we’re all just worried for you more than anything and–”

God damn it, it’s like she’s channeling Anna right now and she figures it’s probably because it’s been days since she last held a conversation with him that she’s built it up in her head. Like there’s a river in her mind that’s labeled “Killian” with a dam put up there to filter her thoughts and conversations with him, but his absence caused all the words to build up behind it and now that he’s here, in front of her, the dam just  _breaks_ and everything she’s been meaning to say flows right out of her in the messiest, most mortifying and graceless way possible. 

“Anyway,” she coughs as if she can disseminate the tension from the atmosphere and her body with the action, “proceed.”

Killian sighs, but she detects fondness in the gesture. 

“I didn’t mean for my absence to cause you any distress, love. And for that, I apologize. It was bad form.” 

He scratches at his ear and the action conveys his nervousness. 

“My actions these past few days have nothing to do with you, you have done nothing wrong,” he rubs his tongue along his bottom lip in a cheeky manner, “ _just for the record_.” 

Okay, she thinks, he’s teasing, which is always a good sign. 

He doesn’t say more after that and Emma wants to go near him but is so afraid he’d pull back. So she takes a page out of his book and waits for him to make the first move, but also, pushes him a little. 

“I still don’t get why you didn’t just tell me, though.”

He huffs, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin there. She’s never seen him look more vulnerable, or child-like, than in that moment.

“Pride, I suppose?” 

He sighs, and shame colors his features. Yeah... she knows a thing or two about that pesky thing called pride.

“I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t want you, or anyone, to think I was weak. I thought I was handling it just fine. I’ve lived 300 years without anyone taking care of me. I figured this was just another hurdle for me to surpass on my own.”

She knows a lot about being alone, too, and she realizes that maybe they’re both still getting accustomed to having someone take care of them without expecting them to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

“But you’re not on your own. You have me now, and Henry and my parents, this  _town_. We’re family, Killian.” 

They’ve not said  _the words_ to each other yet but this is a close thing, and she’s surprised by how easy they come.  

She figures a little more time and they’ll just slip from her lips if she isn’t too careful.

And she finds she doesn’t want to be careful. She wants to let loose and  _say it_ , but decides that maybe this isn’t the best time, not when the fear so clearly still shrouds his mind and his heart. 

He’s biting his lip, a smile so wide it could stretch for miles threatening to take over his face as he looks shyly at her from beneath his lashes. 

“Yeah?”

She nods reassuringly, “Yeah.”

“You’ve no idea how much that means to me, Emma. But,” he buries his face in his arms then. The tension that seemed to drain little by little from his body throughout the night, returns with a full force. 

“I know that–that… that  _universe_ wasn’t real but at the time, it was  _real to me_. Every time I look at something even remotely related to that world, I’m reminded of that time. I had a whole life worth of memories there, granted they were similar to the ones I have now, just slightly altered. Then I see your parents, and that incident… the crazed look in your mother's eyes, the driving of David's weapon through my chest, the  _pain_ of that moment, of  _dying_  feels as real as the ground beneath me. Everything goes  _dark_.

“It’s just… it’s hard, for me to be around them right now. Around  _anyone_ , really.”

She wasn’t really expecting progress that night, nothing major like that, but she was hoping he’d be just a tad open to accepting her help. 

But she feels the hope in her chest drain out of her at those words.

“Oh.” 

She’s slow to get up, but get up she does and when the bed shifts to accommodate the loss of her weight, he looks up.  

“Where are you going?”

She shakes her head, unable to meet his eyes lest he sees the disappointment in them. Not at him, really, just… disappointment in general, she supposes. 

( _Fuck,_ who was she kidding? She’s disappointed with herself, for thinking she was equipped enough to handle this… to help  _him_ ) 

(Can broken pieces really mend other broken pieces?) 

(Who was she kidding? Just... _fuck_ )

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here tonight.” 

She's not leaving him, not really. She meant all that stuff, _means_ all that stuff about staying and not abandoning him. She's just now realizing though, that _maybe_  4:00am wasn't the best time for her to choose to rehash his near-death experience with him.

She’s halfway to the door when his voice stops her at her tracks.

"You bring the light in." 

She turns to him.

" _What?_ " 

It's like he didn't mean to say what it is he did, judging by the way his face is scrunched up as if he ate a really, _really_ sour lemon.

"What I mean to say, is," he lets out this nervous laugh, like he's afraid what he says next might scare her away. She scoffs internally. As if anything could scare her away right now. She's in this for the long haul, and she thinks she should tell him so sometime tonight. But not before he finishes his sentence.

"Everything goes dark, when I have those... episodes. With you though, it's not so dark." He takes a deep breath. "You're the light, Emma. And the reason I shut you out is cause I didn't want to be tainting that with my troubles."

She gapes at him, then.

"You're an idiot."

He was picking at a loose thread on his sheets so when she says _that_ , his eyes immediately lock with hers.

In an instant, she's marching up to him and into his bed. She wrenches his legs apart so that he has no choice but to outstretch them in order for him to not be uncomfortable and Emma nestles herself in the space between, rests her head in the crook of his neck as she wraps her arms around him.

"Swan, what–"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

He does what he's told and follows when Emma gets him to wrap his own arms around her.

She looks up at him.

"You're _no_ trouble at all, you hear me? You don't get to be a martyr anymore, _not_ for anyone and especially not for _me._ If there's a problem _, you tell me,_ and we will figure it out like how we do and will continue to do all things. _Together_."

He tries to hide his smile, but it's a difficult thing. Not when Emma's holding him so tightly to her it's like they're bleeding into one and she's spewing declarations at him like she's telling him she loves without _actually_ telling him she loves him, just in a very, very elaborate fashion.

He can see it her actions, of course, but a man always likes to hear the words from time to time.

"Oh, is that all, milady?"

" _No_ ," she says rather petulantly, but she's tracing the dimple on his cheek so he supposes she can't be too angry with him. "I'm in this for the long haul, 'kay?" 

He chuckles when she mirrors the words he himself has said on a separate occasion, though unknowingly to her. 

"Something funny, Jones?"

"No, no. Just," he runs his fingers through her hair and gazes at her with wonder and gratitude. "You're an angel."

She snorts. "I don't think angels swoop in at the dead of night to berate people."

"I suppose you'll just be _my_ angel then." 

"Poor you," she mocks.

"More like _lucky_ _me_."

Emma chooses that moment to let out a jaw-cracking yawn. "Well this ‘ _angel’_ seems to have used up her Savior quota for the day."

"I'm not surprised. What strange hours you keep, love." 

They have a laugh as they settle down beneath the covers like they've done it their whole lives, as if this isn't at all their first time. 

"So... what happens now? I can't... I don't mean to be but I get terrified whenever I'm near Dave or your mother. I don't want to be this way."

"It'll take some time, Killian. But I'm willing to help you. We're _all_ willing to help you. That is, if you're willing to accept."

"I am."

"Good," she tangles their legs together and sighs in contentment when he continues to run his fingers through her hair, "then we'll start in the morning. An appointment with Archie."

"The cricket? You mean–"

"Don't worry, when I said we were all willing to help, I meant it. He's forgiven you." The hand at her hair stills. 

"What?" She asks.

He doesn't say anything. Just kisses her so hard she can taste his answer with every stroke of his tongue against hers. 

When they pull away, he places his forehead against hers. 

"You truly are an angel, Emma Swan."

She yawns again, even when she doesn't want to. It's just that his warmth makes her feel light and sleepy. "Yeah, and I'm yours," she mumbles.

She burrows herself impossibly closer to him but he doesn't seem to mind, judging by the way he tugs her even further into his side. Like he's sorry he ever placed some distance between them in the first place and is now making up for lost time.

With their bodies pressed tightly together, she realizes they're more than just broken pieces meant to be fixed. 

Like, so what if they're broken? Emma’s never needed a man to “complete her” or some shit like that.

But as the dawn breaks and sleep overtakes her, she looks at her broken pieces and thinks they might just fill his in. 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaah. I am sad to say that I do not have much experience with ptsd apart from my Google searches, therefore, I had no idea how to end this.
> 
> Hope it's okay though!


End file.
